The city streets were eerily quiet—too quiet for the storm about to break. Dust swirled around the narrow alley as Eryndor stood, eyes calm, but his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. Across from him, Veylan and his three lieutenants spread out, each calculating, each ready to strike.
Veylan narrowed his eyes. "You've been a thorn for too long, Eryndor. Let's end this."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, Eryndor launched himself forward. His movement was almost too fast to follow; the air hissed as he closed the distance in an instant. Veylan barely had time to lift a hand, and the clash of steel rang like a gunshot through the alley. Sparks flew, echoing against the stone walls.
The first strike came from Veylan's left lieutenant, a hulking brute with armored gauntlets. He swung a massive punch, but Eryndor twisted his body midair, letting the blow graze him and using the momentum to knock the man off balance. Before he could recover, Eryndor's palm slammed into his chest, sending him skidding across the pavement.
Veylan's second, a lithe woman with twin daggers, darted in from the side. Her blades were a blur, aimed at Eryndor's throat and ribs in a deadly pattern. Eryndor didn't dodge; he shifted his stance, letting the strikes slice the air just above his shoulders. He closed the distance with one elegant step, his elbow connecting with her jaw, and she went down in a heap, stunned.
Veylan frowned. Even now, seeing the ease with which Eryndor repelled his best, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. "He's… faster than before."
The last lieutenant, a man in heavy robes, began chanting, summoning flames that erupted between them, turning the alley into a furnace. Eryndor's eyes narrowed. He didn't flinch. With a single, almost lazy motion, he swept his arm in a wide arc. The air itself seemed to respond—heat twisted violently, flames bending away from him. The alley was suddenly silent except for the roar of displaced fire.
Veylan charged. "Enough games, Eryndor!"
But Eryndor met him head-on, blocking the strike and forcing Veylan back step by step. Every push from Eryndor was calculated, relentless. Veylan's crew tried to flank him, but he spun and struck with surgical precision, each movement leaving bruises and broken bones in his wake. For the first time, Veylan's confidence wavered. His attacks, once executed with perfect coordination, were now barely keeping Eryndor at bay.
"Step back!" Veylan barked. His voice carried desperation now, his usual arrogance replaced by the strain of realizing they were being overwhelmed.
Eryndor didn't relent. He pressed the assault, forcing Veylan and his crew back toward the intersection where the street opened into the wider plaza. Dust kicked up as feet scrambled, stones cracked under impacts, and the air was thick with tension.
And then—a shadow dropped from the rooftops. Kael. Calm, calculating, but with a presence that turned the tide of attention instantly. His cloak flared behind him as he landed silently, watching Eryndor's back with cold precision.
Veylan blinked, torn between fear and relief. "Kael…"
Eryndor didn't stop, didn't even glance over. But Veylan's formation faltered. Kael's arrival was the intervention they didn't expect—but for now, Eryndor had already proven who dominated the fight.